Take those brittled ribs off. Let me touch the most flawed, human part of you.

Red is a powerful color— of passion and love, and of violence and blood. It's intense, invoking danger, representing anger, showing strength. But how much a color can represent? More than love, it defines her agony.

Leyla sits on her knees with his head resting on her lap, counting each of his raspy breaths and praying for them not to be his last. She doesn't want a last breath; she wants his life to last. But the paralyzing pain of the harsh reality seizes her sanity, making it nonfunctional, gluing her to his body on the cold floor.

"Lawangeen."

She places a trembling hand upon his own that's clutching the wound on his chest, the blood soaking through his white shirt and staining it red before disappearing under the black shawl covering his shoulders and arms, coloring her skin red too. She tries hard not to cry for her tears might blur her vision and she won't be able to see his face clearly. But she fails and starts crying, unable to shush her heart as the fear of the worst awaiting fate bothers her.

"Lawangeen?"

She leans over him, pushing away his bangs from his forehead that are sticking to it due to his sweating. She cups his cheek and her tears fall over his face.

"No, Brekhna." He tries to smile at her, speaking with effort between labored breaths. "You're my strong sister, jaan."

"Not strong enough to bear your loss," she refuses. "Don't give up on us. Hold on. Zari has gone to call an ambulance," she assures him.

He shakes his head and coughs. "My time has come—"

"No—"

"Listen to me, please." He lifts his hand and Leyla quickly takes it in hers.

"Tell Zarbakhta I'm sorry for breaking her heart. I pray she finds someone better than me," he pauses to gulp in air before adding, "someone who treasures her."

Leyla exhales shakily but doesn't interrupt him.

"Spogmay," he struggles to speak in broken words, coughing, "I've taken care of her like a daughter than a little sister." He pauses again. "She was very young when our parents left us. Be her parents for her, Brekhna." He swallows thickly and draws in more air.

Leyla squeezes his hand in response and he squeezes back weakly.

"Mustafa has my heart," he says. "Take care of my son like your own."

"I will," she promises. "Always."

He smiles at her faintly before groaning in suffering. Leyla winces at his pain. She sees the shine in his dark orbs dulling into something lifeless and her body starts shivering on its own.

"Brekhna?"

"I'm here." Her breath hitches. "I'm with you."

"Tell Gul," he exhales in a hiss before continuing, "tell Gulalai I'm sorry for not making all her dreams come true; I'm leaving her too soon to do so. But that..." his eyes lull shut before he forces to open them again, grimacing, "that I've kept my promise to love her till my... my l-last breath."

Now his skin starts losing its tone as he pales. He closes his eyes, unable to keep them open anymore. His struggle to breath becomes more aggressive.

"Brother?" Leyla starts to panic. "Open your eyes, Lawangeen. Look at me please."

A new wave of tears hit her. She hears rushed footsteps and looks up to find Zarbakhta running towards them. She falls on her knees beside Lawangeen.

"The ambulance is on its way," she pants before looking down at his paling face. "Lawangeen?" she chokes.

He opens his eyes again and Zarbakhta reaches out with shaking hands to touch his face, but then curls in her fingers and fists them. Her eyes fill up with tears of her own.

"You can't go." She hiccups. "I can't," she grits her teeth and blinks, her tears falling, "can't live without you."

"I'm leaving you all in the hands of God," he replies in a feeble voice now, speaking with difficulty, as if he's seeing death with his eyes. "May He be y-your Helper." His back arches in pain as his eyes roll up. The pangs of death starts to take over him. "Ah!"

"Lawangeen." Zarbakhta clutches his arm fearfully. "Please," she sobs.

"I bear witness that God is one," Lawangeen begins to recite, declaring his faith before his death, and Leyla feels her heart drown into an endless ocean. Her brother is going to die; she's sure now as all her hopes instantly vanish. "And Muhammad is the messenger of God," he finishes, his pupils fixing up, staring emptily into space, and she feels him slip through her fingers as life leaves him and his body falls limp. So does her heart.

She sits staring into his hollow eyes now, so does Zarbakhta as her trembling hands once more hover over his face but don't touch it.

"La-Lawangeen?" Zarbakhta calls to him fearfully, as if wanting a response but knowing she's not going to get it. Leyla feels dead herself.

Fighting against the ringing of her brain and ears, and the sheer agony of her body and soul, she runs her hand over his eyelids, closing them.

"My Lord, You bear witness my brother died as a righteous man." She leans down to kiss his forehead. "He was a good man. Forgive him and grant him paradise," she prays with a shattered heart, not able to feel her limbs as a buzzing sensation numbs her. She feels like fainting anytime soon.

Zarbakhta sits nonresponsive beside him, as if unable to digest the reality and waiting to wake up from this nightmare. How good it must have been if it were but a nightmare, Leyla thinks.

Then someone grasps Zarbakhta's arm and pulls her to her feet.

"What the hell are you doing here, Zari?" Asfandyar snarls.

Zarbakhta looks at him with a wooden expression. "You've killed him, lala."

His features distort in disgrace. "I intended to."

"I'll never forgive you," Zarbakhta replies in apathy before snatching away her arm free. "You're no more my brother. You're dead to me too."

Asfandyar clenches his jaw as his fury begins to show. "He rejected you, don't you remember?"

"I could've lived with him loving another than him dead!" Zarbakhta screams, now digging her fingers in her hair and tugging at it, sobbing loudly. "You'll pay for this, lala."

Asfandyar loses it as he slaps his sister hard across the face. She falls to the floor and turns to glares up at him.

"Lower your voice and behave yourself, Zarbakhta. You don't want me killing you too," he threatens.

"Kill me already for I died with him anyways," Zarbakhta dares. "Unfortunately I've the same blood as you running through me. Nothing scares me— neither you, nor death."

"Shut up!"

Leyla feels her head beginning to spin. She looks up at the sky. "Fulfill my brother's last wish and be our Helper, my Lord," she prays quietly. "You're the honorable one, so honor us." She gazes down at Lawangeen's dead body, his head lying on her lap, before looking at Asfandyar. "I swear upon Your Majesty, I'll ruin this man. Make me a curse for him, my Lord."

She makes a silent commitment to herself, for her brother's sake. And she intends to keep her words, be it costing her her own life.

➳

"Thank you for having me tonight," Burq says after the formal greetings as he arrives at her place. Leyla receives him at the door, receiving from him the gifts he has brought them all too, and takes him to the living room where the family sits down together. Leyla takes a seat beside him.

"It's our pleasure to have your company, Mr. Aziz," Gulalai replies with a smile.

"Please, call me Burq." He returns her smile.

"Gulalai," she introduces herself and he grins.

"I remember. I suppose this is my second time coming here, if I recall correctly." He looks at Leyla who nods in affirmation. "I remember everyone," he adds.

His first time was after their marriage, and he only came to her place once. Burq was never a man to mingle much. But now, he's a different man and she can see it.

"We're glad you're in your good health again, Burq," Gulalai says.

"Thank you. It was a tough journey. But," he takes Leyla's hand and holds it in his, "she made it bearable for me."

Leyla smiles at him before looking away, finding Spogmay's calculating gaze fixed on her husband.

"Leyla is an angel," Gulalai compliments and Burq nods in agreement.

"She is."

"I'll go check on the dishes," Gulalai excuses herself.

Leyla unhooks her fingers from his and Burq turns his attention to Spogmay who hasn't yet spoken a word, caressing Mustafa's hair who's curled beside her.

"Ms. Khanzada." Burq tips his head in acknowledgement. "How are you?"

"Fine," she answers briefly. "I see you're better than the last time I saw you. Pleased to see the improvement," she remarks, skipping the courtesy of asking him about himself too. Leyla hears the sting in her words and gives her a glare, but Burq doesn't seem to mind and chuckles instead.

"God is kind, Ms. Khanzada. He gave me another chance," he replies meaningfully.

Spogmay falls silent, taking the hint in his statement. Leyla leans into his side, finding warmth in his presence. She hopes her sister can find it in herself to forgive her husband and give him a another chance too.

Burq looks at Mustafa and smiles at him. "Hello, sweet one."

He shies away from him and hides behind Spogmay, peeking at him with one eyes.

"He has become a little reserved after his father's death," Leyla explains to him quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"Mustafa." Spogmay pulls away from him slightly to reveal his face. "Why don't you show our guest some of your paintings?" she encourages.

When he doesn't budge, Burq says, "Ah, you know I paint too. Why don't you bring your paints and we'll see who's the better artist here?"

Mustafa beams at this and slowly scoots down from the couch, running towards his room and coming back a few minutes later with his supplies, spreading them on the floor. He looks up at Burq hopefully.

"Let's do this."

Burq stands up and pulls up his sweater sleeves before undoing his cuffs and rolling up his shirt sleeves too, sitting cross-legged on the floor with him.

Leyla watches with amusement and unexplainable bliss as they begin to paint the chart and Mustafa starts opening up to him bit by bit, becoming chatty now.

"So, what's your favorite color?" Burq asks him.

"This, and this, and this," he replies while pointing to several paints.

Burq laughs, stealing away Leyla's breath for a moment as her heart forgets to beat. Sometimes, one split second is all you need to fall in love. Like she falls for him again. Like she does always.

"Oh boy, nice choices."

"And you?" Mustafa asks him.

"Black. Midnight black." He glances up at Leyla and smirks. "What's your aunt's?"

Leyla knows Burq is referring to her but Mustafa doesn't, so he begins searching for his old drawing before pulling out the golden, glittered flower and showing it to Burq. "Lily likes golden," he refers to Leyla before turning to Spogmay, "Moon likes red."

"Interesting." Burq catches her eyes once more before he begins to write Mustafa's name in Arabic. She knows he does astounding calligraphy, and he proves it once more with perfect strokes of his name. "Here, this is for you." Burq smiles at him again and Mustafa grins in excitement.

"Wow!" He whips his paintbrush and splatters the paint across Burq's forearm.

"Careful, jaan. We don't want you staining your uncle's clothes," Spogmay instructs.

"It's okay," Burq dismisses.

Spogmay reaches over to hand him the tissues. "Here."

"Thank you, miss."

"You can call me Spogmay, Burq."

Burq raises an eyebrow in surprise. The corners of his lips twitch up. "Very well, Spogmay."

He gets back to painting with Mustafa and Leyla meets Spogmay's eyes. They share a secret smile before Leyla's phone starts ringing. She excuses herself to answer it, going to her room.

"Hello?"

"Brekhna."

Her heart drops dead. "What do you want, Asfand?"

"Besides you? Some courtesy of at least greeting me properly."

She refrains from retorting. "Why have you called?"

"To tell you I've kept my part of the deal. Now it's time you keep yours and return home."

"You did?" she questions, not believing. He did it sooner than expected.

"Yes. Besides the truth of Lawangeen's death, I put every other truth out in the open. Everything has been explained to everyone and no one will dare raise a finger at you or your family now."

"How do I trust you?"

"You've only my word to trust, Brekhna. I cannot make you believe while miles away. Come home and see for yourself."

She chews her lip uneasily. "I will, soon."

"No, khwagy. No more games. I did what you asked of me. Now it's time you do what I ask of you. I want you back home, here with me, by the end of this month."

"This month?" she asks in shock. "I can't—"

"Either you come or I come back to you and bring you myself."

He cuts the line and Leyla stares at her phone, dumbfounded, before quickly dialing Farhang's number.

"Salam, Leyla."

"Salam," she greets in a rush. "Farhang, a problem came up. Asfandyar wants me back in Pakistan by the end of this month."

"Then you should come back," he states calmly.

"What?" Leyla paces the room anxiously. "But we're not ready for the case. We still don't have enough evidence."

"Actually, we have."

She stops walking, blinking. "We have?"

"Yes, and please ignore the noise in the background. That's my niece disciplining our cat," he jokes but she cannot focus.

"What evidence do we have against Asfandyar?" she asks urgently.

"A witness. A solid one."

"Who?"

"His sister, Zarbakhta."

➳

➳